Alone
by NotYourAverageSchoolgirl
Summary: Harry's thoughts on the war- and a certain redheaded girl. (One-shot)


**My first one-shot AND my first angsty fic _ever_. I know I may very well be horrid at this, so please do tell me. If you hate this, feel free to review and tell me, "Gosh, you're _horrible_ at angst, and you shouldn't even try. Please, never ever put out such a terrible piece of writing again." **

**I hope you guys like it... It just kind of flowed. I was in the middle of my history homework, and I randomly wrote this all out in, mm... half an hour I think? So yes... I just was feeling kind of _blah_ and didn't feel like writing fluffy, humorous stuff. So I wrote this. **

He flinched.

She walked by blissfully unaware of his presence in the dark corner, walking down the hall confidently, her bright eyes shining as she laughed at something that the boy said.

That little sixth year _git_ whose arm she was hanging onto.

The corners of his lips rose almost imperceptibly in a grim smile as he watched her retreating figure, heard her echoing shrieks of laughter, watched her skip merrily ahead of her new boyfriend, stopping for a moment to whip around and grin impishly at the boy, her delighted giggle and sparkling eyes saying it all as for a moment, she basked in the rare glow of _happiness._

She was happy.

She, that same little girl who had bit her lip as she averted his gaze nervously and accidentally set her elbow into the butter dish because she had been so mortified by his presence.

She, that same girl who during her first year of school had matured so much; the girl who had seen horrors her own parents could never imagine, had scrawled her girlish thoughts into an innocent book only to find later on that even words could betray.

And the next few years had passed by, she had grown even more confident, more sure of herself. If he spoke to her, she no longer blushed madly, mumbling incoherent phrases under her breath. Rather, she smiled back easily, chattering away animatedly, giggling infectiously as she recounted the newest (and sometimes most dangerous) inventions of her twin brothers.

He had lost his effect on her.

And when he had realized that, it was then that he, ironically enough, realized that he could quite possibly be madly infatuated with Ginny Weasley.

And he had been stupid enough to realize this far too late.

It had taken him six years, a full six years to notice her.

And then Voldemort had taken away from his life again. As the war began during his sixth year, he dared not tell her how he felt. Not when he could die any day; heck, not when _she_ could die any day.

She was a fighter, and for that, he truly admired her. Despite the protestations of her parents and six older brothers, she was fighting for their side, hexing Death Eaters left and right at every battle, and constantly vigilant.

Spending time watching for shadows in dark corners, starting with fright whenever a low whisper reached her was enough to make anyone go mad, and he knew that. But they were brave and stronger than he could ever imagine.

Ron and Hermione had stood by his side as always, wands steady as they vehemently pledged to fight to the death, a phrase that quite frankly, made him shudder with dread. He hoped with all his might that they wouldn't carry out their promises.

The rest of the student body had followed with surprising selflessness. All the previous members of the DA were prepared to fight; even Lavender Brown was now seen more frequently practicing hexes with Parvati Patil rather than poring over fashion magazines and giggling away carelessly as they had once done. Their lips were pressed into thin, concentrated lines as they grimly whispered the words that would inflict pain, and possibly kill another human being in the next battle. He had once found it incredibly annoying when they pranced about in their new robes, spending hours gushing over how to do their makeup, nails, or hair.

And now he found himself missing those days.

The war had come, and he wished it hadn't.

They no longer cried, he realized with horror. There was far too much death.

Owls were no longer looked forward to; rather, the sight of an owl sweeping low across the Great Hall caused all to shudder momentarily, breaths caught in suspense as they wondered _who_ would receive the note that day.

And the owl would drop a crisp letter in front of some student's breakfast, with the Ministry's seal on it, and a hushed silence would fall over all as the child opened the letter with dread, already knowing the contents. At first, the letters would be received with heartbreaking wails as the child sobbed out, calling to his or her parents in vain, and the other students uncomfortably offered words of sympathy. However, by now, a numbness usually accompanied the news, and the silence was far more oppressing.

He hated it.

Happiness was so rare, and so much more complicated than it used to be. He found himself appreciating even little brief episodes of it. The little smiles that he had never noticed before now were infinitely valuable. Neville's face lighting up when he passed Potions, Hermione's excited squeal as she found out that she had been made Head Girl, and Ron's whoop of laughter when the twins had invaded the Gryffindor Common Room and charmed it so that giant lizards, snakes, and other creatures chased the screaming girls up to their dormitory. These were the moments he found himself cherishing, desperately trying to perserve those joyous, carefree moments forever in his memory.

And then there was Ginny.

He could be happy with her, and he wanted so desperately to be so.

She smiled, and he wanted to hold onto that moment forever, transfixed as he realized that after the next attack, he might never see it again.

And it hurt.

He was brought out of his reverie as Dumbledore suddenly appeared beside him, his normally twinkling eyes markedly more serious, his face drawn and tired.

"Mr. Potter," he addressed him quietly, "There you are. We need you right now."

And Harry nodded grimly as he followed his headmaster down the hallway, off to win the war that he prayed daily would end sometime soon.

He was going to fight.

Alone.


End file.
